Time to put my money where my mouth is
Translating is difficult, but it's not difficult to try to be as faithful as possible
My previous post was received rather well, though I had thought it would go further on Twitter than it did. Turns out Elmo Skunk (I’m changing his name because I don’t want his fanboys’ attention; no one wants that, trust me) has downweighted the Twitter algorithm to block all mention of Substack, or even Substack links, since they see this platform as a competitor to Twitter. It’s absurd.
If you haven’t read the post, click on the link below.
You’d really get more out of this post if you did, so do that, then come back here.
I said in the post that translations of Ancient Greek works often get affirmed as the correct version despite much of the original meaning being (intentionally or accidentally) elided. Alexander Pope’s version of the Iliad, for one, is hailed as a classic itself, despite being absolutely awful for Greek eyes1. He uses the Roman gods’ names throughout, despite the Roman gods being their own, and not interchangeable at will with the Greek ones. Pope was not only erasing one culture with the stroke of his pen, but two!
Many accusations of sexism in the Iliad, for instance, are garnered by slathering an ancient culture with the tarred brush belonging a modern one. It’s shortsighted and ignorant to judge a 3000-year-old culture by the moral standards of today. Besides, many of the accusations are removed from context, as well.
But none of that is important. What’s important is that I’m working on my own translation.
Reading something like this in its own script always felt to me like discovering something lost, as though I'm an explorer, delving into lost tombs to find secrets hidden for millennia, and to my surprise—touching on my point earlier—finding that I’ve always known those secrets in my heart, because they belong to my ancestors. As much as I cannot recommend that Jonesian2 style of archaeology, the fantasy enthrals me.
I’ve always had an interest in reading an ancient work in its original language, and natural inclinations as they are, they’re wont to grow. Now I want to read and recite the Iliad as the ancients might have said it. Friends have urged me to do so, as well, and that’s been the push I’ve needed to take that leap: I’m translating my own version of the Iliad.
Whether I will ever finish it is debatable, but I’ve done a page in about a day from the perseus.tufts.edu version, and finding the definitions is easy (you just click on the word). I imagine I’ll get faster as I go.
But understanding the definition, maintaining the meaning of the original word—especially with a flawed, much simpler language like English—putting in the ancient context, not to mention maintaining the original meter of the poem as much as possible… if that sounds exceedingly difficult, you’re still a fair ways off from how difficult it truly is.
I’ve decided to hold myself to account (and because I’m hoping that some of you might find it interesting), I’m posting my progress once a month.
Here’s how I’ve planned it to go:
I’ll translate as much as I can in a month, as long as I can be bothered,
I’ll show what I’ve constructed (subject to change), and
I’ll put my notes in a Google doc for anyone who’d like to follow along with my process.
Of course, I still have the imminent release of my new book, The Pyres of Vengeance, to think about: my editor is getting it back to me any day now, and I need to work on that before anything else. And I don’t want to rush the translation—if I’m to not be a hypocrite, I need to make sure that I’ve fulfilled certain criteria (these are not in descending order, they’re all equally important):
The work has to be engaging, and feel suitably epic (it’s an epic poem FFS),
keep as close as possible to the original meter3
keep as close to the original words and meaning,
and be as accurate to the historical context unfiltered through a modern lens or western classicist bias.
The last one is helped, I believe, by me being an amateur, which is an interesting reflection. I have no formal education in classics, and that I think makes me a great choice to do something like this. Someone who is motivated by their cultural pride and heritage to as faithful to the original as possible, and someone who is unfettered by the neoclassicist inheritance.
Without further preamble, here’s the original Greek of the first page4:
μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος
οὐλομένην, ἣ μυρί᾽ Ἀχαιοῖς ἄλγε᾽ ἔθηκε,
πολλὰς δ᾽ ἰφθίμους ψυχὰς Ἄϊδι προΐαψεν
ἡρώων, αὐτοὺς δὲ ἑλώρια τεῦχε κύνεσσιν
5οἰωνοῖσί τε πᾶσι, Διὸς δ᾽ ἐτελείετο βουλή,
ἐξ οὗ δὴ τὰ πρῶτα διαστήτην ἐρίσαντε
Ἀτρεΐδης τε ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν καὶ δῖος Ἀχιλλεύς.τίς τ᾽ ἄρ σφωε θεῶν ἔριδι ξυνέηκε μάχεσθαι;
Λητοῦς καὶ Διὸς υἱός: ὃ γὰρ βασιλῆϊ χολωθεὶς
νοῦσον ἀνὰ στρατὸν ὄρσε κακήν, ὀλέκοντο δὲ λαοί,
οὕνεκα τὸν Χρύσην ἠτίμασεν ἀρητῆρα
Ἀτρεΐδης: ὃ γὰρ ἦλθε θοὰς ἐπὶ νῆας Ἀχαιῶν
λυσόμενός τε θύγατρα φέρων τ᾽ ἀπερείσι᾽ ἄποινα,
στέμματ᾽ ἔχων ἐν χερσὶν ἑκηβόλου Ἀπόλλωνος
χρυσέῳ ἀνὰ σκήπτρῳ, καὶ λίσσετο πάντας Ἀχαιούς,
Ἀτρεΐδα δὲ μάλιστα δύω, κοσμήτορε λαῶν:
Ἀτρεΐδαι τε καὶ ἄλλοι ἐϋκνήμιδες Ἀχαιοί,
ὑμῖν μὲν θεοὶ δοῖεν Ὀλύμπια δώματ᾽ ἔχοντες
ἐκπέρσαι Πριάμοιο πόλιν, εὖ δ᾽ οἴκαδ᾽ ἱκέσθαι:
παῖδα δ᾽ ἐμοὶ λύσαιτε φίλην, τὰ δ᾽ ἄποινα δέχεσθαι,
ἁζόμενοι Διὸς υἱὸν ἑκηβόλον Ἀπόλλωνα.ἔνθ᾽ ἄλλοι μὲν πάντες ἐπευφήμησαν Ἀχαιοὶ
αἰδεῖσθαί θ᾽ ἱερῆα καὶ ἀγλαὰ δέχθαι ἄποινα:
ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ Ἀτρεΐδῃ Ἀγαμέμνονι ἥνδανε θυμῷ,
ἀλλὰ κακῶς ἀφίει, κρατερὸν δ᾽ ἐπὶ μῦθον ἔτελλε:
μή σε γέρον κοίλῃσιν ἐγὼ παρὰ νηυσὶ κιχείω
ἢ νῦν δηθύνοντ᾽ ἢ ὕστερον αὖτις ἰόντα,
μή νύ τοι οὐ χραίσμῃ σκῆπτρον καὶ στέμμα θεοῖο:
τὴν δ᾽ ἐγὼ οὐ λύσω: πρίν μιν καὶ γῆρας ἔπεισιν
ἡμετέρῳ ἐνὶ οἴκῳ ἐν Ἄργεϊ τηλόθι πάτρης
ἱστὸν ἐποιχομένην καὶ ἐμὸν λέχος ἀντιόωσαν:
ἀλλ᾽ ἴθι μή μ᾽ ἐρέθιζε σαώτερος ὥς κε νέηαι.
And here’s my translation:
The rage5 of Peleus’ son // goddess sing of Achileos
of that accursed rage // that caused much Achaian suffering,
and threw many powerful heroes’ // shades6 into Hades early;
themselves a feast // for dogs and all types of birds,
thus was Zeus’ overlord will done. Sing of the time
the two men first part in strife // and in the clashing
between Atreus’ son // lord, and godlike Achilleus.Which of the immortals // set these two at odds?
Apollonos, who from the warlord // was angered, brought plague
to the lord’s army // a terrible ruin wrought,
wherefore the lord // dishonored Chryses, his priest.
Chryses, for whom a fortune // did he offer for
his daughter’s ransom // came quickly to the landed
ships, to give a heartfelt display of Apollon’s
wreaths, priest’s staff // and a plea to all the Achaians;
most to the generals // the two sons of Atreus.“Sons of Atreus and all // Achaeans handsomely greaved,
to you may the gods on Olympus // grant you plunder of
Priamos’ city, and safe return. But let my
beloved daughter go // for the ransom I give,
and for the reverence // you hold for Apollona,
whose terrific archer’s aim // rains death from afar.”An assenting shout rang up // among the Achaeans,
“It will bring upon us shame // if we refuse the priest’s ransom.”
But Atreus’ son Agamemnon // his spirit filled with displeasure.
“Though your words hold power // go forth with ill luck
and never return, either now or later, lest you
old man earn a clubbing // and find yourself in my
ship’s hold. Thou god’s staff // and wreaths will not ward
you next time. Hear me // when I say that she will be
an old woman attending // the house of Argos,
visiting my lounge bed // far from her fatherland,
before I set her free. Go safely now lest I become angry!”
I do hope you join me for this journey. It’s bound to be an odyssey to remember (heh).
NC
And absolutely awful in general.
Of Indiana Jones
fuck caesuras
As Perseus has it; there are no “pages” in the ancient text, since it was meant to be spoken.
μῆνιν, “menin” has to be the most loaded word in the entirely of the corpus of Iliad translations—even an amateur like me has heard of the many, many arguments had over the meaning. But like most of the original Greek, it’s not captured at all by a single English word. “Rage” is the closest at least in my opinion, but it’s more like the rage of a god, unstoppable, unending, and unable to be quenched.
ψυχὰς - “psukas” (in the Attic Greek) is commonly translated as “souls” but I adhere to the “psyche” meaning, of souls of the dead as in Book 11 of the Odyssey and other works (c.f., psychopomp “guide of dead souls”). Going to Hades is as a shade, and this is reaffirmed here.
I love this idea.